


Orange Coloured Sky

by Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind



Series: 30 Days AU Challenge [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Day 3: 1950s, Disabled Character, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Inspired by Real Events, Not Beta Read, Nuclear Warfare, Nuclear Weapons, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Very heavily inspired by Fallout 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9215663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind/pseuds/Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind
Summary: Day 3 of AU ChallengeTara Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford live a 'nuclear family' life. But it had not always been like that and Tara's burden weights heavily on her body and soul.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catlantean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catlantean/gifts).



> Day 3: 1950s
> 
> Took me forever to imagine anything, until a very good friend and (science) nerd, to whom the fic is dedicated, gave me a perfect plot involving a mix between the Manhattan Project and Fallout 4. It took me two days to write it because, despite feeling inspired I wanted it to be _just_ right and I think I managed. For myself, anyway.
> 
> Hope you like it! Personally, I am extremely happy with how it turned out.
> 
> Kudos and Comments are always loved and are welcome. <3
> 
> Stop by my tumblr, [The Golden Sheep of Honnleath](http://thegoldensheepofhonnleath.tumblr.com/), and say hi ^^

Tara hummed softly to the tune as she turned the volume of the bulky radio up, listening to the smooth jazz flowing from the speakers. The clock in her brightly lit living-room showed ten past five- Cullen would be home sometime around six and she wanted dinner to be ready and waiting when he came back. He had been away for about a month and, as much as Commander was a good company, it was in no way permanent replacement for a human being. Tara chopped a small piece of the steak and whistled, listening for the familiar patter of the paws and over - excited panting.

“Here you go. I know you have been waiting for a treat, you furry ball of lard.” she smiled and ruffled Commander’s fur, making sure to softly pinch whatever the equivalent of love handles were on a dog. The golden retriever huffed and chomped the offering down, proceeding to lick her hand in a familiar gesture of gratitude. With that out of the way the retriever went to sit at the front door, staring at it intensely. Commander was Cullen’s dog. They got him together as a puppy shortly after moving to Ferelden but Cullen mothered the dog mercilessly, effectively gaining Commander’s loyalty. Tara was, of course, appreciated as well but primarily as a provider of juicy scraps and delicious chow.

The timer rang shrilly, making the dog bark in panic and Trevelyan shushed him, while grabbing an oven mitt and taking out a batch of cinnamon muffins, which were Cullen’s favorite ever since they tried them in the small bakery in Minrathous. Holding the oven door with her right hand, Tara reached out for the muffins with the other hand, once again forgetting there was nothing there below the elbow anymore.

***

It had been five years since the accident that cost Tara her forearm, her health and, to a degree, her and Cullen’s future. As a member of the team of physicists employed by the Tevinter government in their weapon race against Orlais, Tara’s main task was the study of the nuclear fission and the possible use of the effects to further the military agenda. It had never been her dream job - Tara wanted to work for the benefit of humanity, rather than against it. However, the governmental officials left her _very_ little choice on the matter.

On the day of the accident she had been showing one of her colleagues, Mahanon Lavellan, a prototype neutron reflector - two hemispheres that, when brought together around the plutonium core, would initiate the fission reaction. Tara could not find the shims that were normally used for this type of the procedure and, being low on time, resorted to using a screwdriver one of the technicians had left behind. It had all happened in seconds - the screwdriver slipped, effectively colliding the two reflector parts. Tara screamed for Lavellan to back off and with her left hand picked up the top shell, throwing it on the ground and stopping the criticality. 

Dazed and confused, Tara remembered people running towards her and asking her questions that would stop immediately when they looked at her right hand - all necrotic skin and blisters up to the elbow. Tara was rushed to the hospital and spent, what seemed like, an eternity in morphine - induced haze. Her survival, by all accounts, was nothing short of miraculous. Cullen spent every moment he could by her side, tirelessly signing the permit papers for multiple life - saving procedures; something no newlywed ever expects to be doing.

She woke up to a new life: that of an amputee, her project re - assigned to someone else and a formidable monetary support. Cullen had been granted a transfer back to Ferelden and they have left soon after, leaving Tara’s old life behind.

***

A slam of a car door made her blink and, slightly ashamed of zoning out like that, Tara took the muffins out, while balancing the over door on her knee. She quickly peeked outside to see Cullen taking a duffel bag out of the trunk. He slammed it shut the next moment, re - adjusting his uniform but the troubled face expression and a crease between his eyebrows did not manage to escape Tara’s attention. 

Commander started barking and scratching at the door, obviously smelling his beloved owner on the other side and Trevelyan hurried into the hallway, adamant about not allowing the dog to steal any more love than he deserved.

***

The second the door opened, the golden retriever all but body slammed Cullen, making him loose balance and nearly tumble off the porch. A hurricane of golden fur panted in his ear and slobbered all over his face - any resistance was futile.

“Great,” his wife remarked, trying to keep a serious and disappointed face. “This is where I draw the line on kissing.”

“I am so - ugh - Commander, down!” Cullen pushed the dog off him, trying to wipe the face with his sleeve. The retriever whined but obeyed, instead rolling on his back and asking for belly rubs. “Sorry about that.” he stood up and locked his arms around Tara, burying his face in her hair. She smelled of honey and cinnamon, of home.

“Clearly, this marriage is wrong. Fereldans love their mutts more than their own mothers,” his wife snorted and nuzzled at his neck. “But can _he_ cook you cinnamon muffins?”

Cullen chuckled softly and nudged Tara inside the house, picking up his bag and whistling sharply for Commander to stop gathering dirt under the porch. Once inside, he dropped on the sofa and exhaled loudly.

“Maker be praised, this was a long drive.”

Tara put Cullen’s coffee on the small side table and let her fingers run through his hair, enjoying the feeling of soft curls at her fingertips.

“I am happy you are home, Rutherford.”

“Me too,” he smiled absentmindedly and then nodded at the TV set in the corner. “Could you turn the -,” Cullen stopped abruptly and shook his head, hand blindly searching for the coffee. “Nevermind, not feeling like it.”

“What’s wrong?” trying to fool the smart one in the relationship had rarely worked out for Cullen. Tara frowned and nodded at the bay window. “I saw you outside and you did not look happy. So, once again, what is wrong?”

“Have you been following the news lately?” he sighed and rubbed his neck, refusing eye contact. The question was rather pointless - Tara avoided media as much as possible. If Cullen was not home the TV was never on, the newspapers were neatly stacked for him to browse through later and the radio was always tuned on music - only channel. Never making friends or acquaintances kept her away from the unnecessary gossip, allowing Tara to lead a peaceful existence.

“ News are still on. Might as well just watch them.” Cullen looked at the clock and shook his head in defeat. He flipped the TV switch up, watching the black and white image of the reporter jump a couple of times before catching the stable signal.

“ - as an act of retaliation against the supposed ‘accidental misfire’ resulting in death of approximately twenty crew members of the ‘Amladaris’ cargo ship, a group of masked protesters threw flammable projectiles at the walls of the Orlesian embassy in Minrathous, causing severe damage to the - “

“It is getting worse,” Cullen said softly, looking at Tara, who was biting the nail on her thumb and staring at the screen. “The situation has been declining for a while now and - ”

“ - the skirmishes at the borders became more frequent and while -” the commentator continued as the footage kept rolling.

Tara’s eyes were glued to screen and she was completely unaware of Cullen placing his hand on her shoulder.

Suddenly, the reporter had stopped mid - sentence and looked off - camera: surprised at first but quickly changing their face expression to that one of shock.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this broadcast to bring you the latest update: few minutes ago the Imperium had launched a small nuclear precision strike against one of the smaller cities in Orlais,” the woman’s voice trembled as she spoke to the camera. “ This is an official declaration - We… We are at war, ladies and gentlemen. This - “

The TV clicked and the picture disappeared, as Cullen ripped the cord out of the socket.

“They were not supposed to -,” Tara stood still and cradling the stump as the phantom pain burned brightly in her crippled arm. “Maker, against _civilians_ … I thought - Hoped… It was meant as a last resort, not as - As _this_.” she covered her eyes, trying to hide her tears.

There were no words Cullen could offer to ease off his wife’s pain. Not at this very moment and, perhaps, never. She had lived in the shadow of her research, desperately clinging to the hope she will never see it being used. That hope has been shattered.

**_”Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” - J. R. Oppenheimer_ **

**Author's Note:**

> **References used:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Louis Slotin  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_Slotin
> 
> The Demon Core  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demon_core
> 
> Nuclear Fission  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuclear_fission


End file.
